


Erased

by LibraryMage



Series: Winter Blueberry AU [2]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autistic Ezra Bridger, Brainwashing, Dehumanization, Gen, Memory Loss, Whumptober, Winter Blueberry AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraryMage/pseuds/LibraryMage
Summary: Trying to resist was useless.  It had been since the beginning.  Ezra had just been to stubborn to see it.----Ezra's transformation into the Empire's newest weapon is completed.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Grand Inquisitor
Series: Winter Blueberry AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1505168
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Erased

**Author's Note:**

> Whumptober 2020 Prompt: memory loss
> 
> warning for: suicidal ideation, nonconsensual medical procedures, dehumanization

At one point, what seemed like so long ago, Ezra had wondered if it was possible to use the Force to stop his own heart. But now, he knew it was pointless. Knowing his luck, the Inquisitors would probably find a way to revive him and punish him for it.

Trying to resist was useless. It had been since the beginning. Ezra had just been to stubborn to see it.

A prickling sensation spread across the back of his neck and Ezra quickly backed into the corner of the cell. The guards were coming. He didn’t _think_ any of the Inquisitors were with them, but it was so hard to tell anymore. Things were always jumbled up in his head, one presence bleeding into the next, twining together into a mass of tormenters who each took a unique pleasure in making him suffer.

Sinking to the floor, Ezra squeezed his eyes shut. Silently, he counted down the seconds until the door opened.

_Nine, eight, seven…_

Terror crept up from his stomach and into his throat as he pulled his knees up to his chest, curling into a tight ball.

_Three, two, one…_

He flinched as the door opened, admitting two stormtroopers. They crossed the room without a word, seizing Ezra’s arms and hauling him to his feet. Ezra didn’t fight. No matter what he did, they always won.

They marched him out of the cell and down a dimly lit corridor to a door he knew all too well. It was behind that door that they’d strapped him down to a table, pumping him full of sedatives until he had no idea what they were doing to him. The last time he’d come out of that room, he’d found himself hardly able to speak, his voice carved out of him until it could barely rise above a whisper.

As always, when the stormtroopers dragged him through the door, they led him straight to the table. Ezra didn’t resist as they shoved him onto it and began securing the restraints around his wrists and ankles. Once he was strapped down, they left the room, never saying a word.

Ezra lay there, not moving, just waiting. Even when he was alone, he didn’t have the will to fight anymore. After months and months of never-ending torture at the hands of the Inquisitors, he had begun to realize that was the point. They didn’t just want to kill him. They wanted to grind him down until he just withered away. And they were close to succeeding. Ezra just couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

He didn’t know how long he lay there before the door opened again and the Grand Inquisitor entered, accompanied by a human woman Ezra recognized as the medic who’d been there the day they’d taken his voice.

The Grand Inquisitor stopped beside the table, grabbing Ezra’s chin and forcing him to meet those horrible yellow eyes. Ezra stared blankly back at him. He had stopped trying to avoid eye contact after only a few weeks. It wasn’t worth the fight, no matter how much it hurt him. As the Inquisitor stared into his eyes, Ezra felt as if something was pressing against his brain, like a thumb pushing into his eyes. After a moment, the pressure vanished, and the Pau’an spoke.

“He’s ready.”

Ezra bit back a whimper as the medic pulled back his sleeve, exposing his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the sharp prick of the needle sliding under his skin. Within a minute, he could feel the drugs starting to take effect. His skin grew hot, his breath sticking in his throat. He gasped, desperately trying to suck in even a tiny amount of air. The oxygen in the room grew thinner and thinner until everything faded.

* * *

_Flashes of_ something _crossed its vision, only to be swallowed up by darkness again. An outline of a pale face. The flash of light off a syringe. Bright yellow eyes piercing into his._

_A voice threaded through his mind, each word digging into him like a needle, leaving an impression of itself behind._

_You are a weapon._

_You exist to serve the Empire._

_You belong to the Inquisitorius._

_You are a weapon._

_You are a weapon._

_You are a weapon._

_Over and over, the words bored themselves into his mind, until they drowned out the fear, drowned out the images that flashed before his eyes._

_It was a weapon for the Inquisitorius. It existed to serve the Empire._

_Nothing else mattered._

* * *

Several minutes passed after its eyes opened before the world began to take shape around it. Cold metal was pressing into its skin, holding down its wrists and ankles. It tried to lift its head, but its whole body felt so heavy that the idea of moving seemed impossible.

A hand grabbed its face, forcing it to look into a pair of bright yellow eyes framed by blood red tattoos. It blinked, but didn’t try to pull away.

“Do you know where you are?”

The words seemed to be coming from miles away, and for a moment, it couldn’t make any sense of them. Even once the meaning of the question had settled in, it took a moment for it to get its voice to work.

“No.”

A razor sharp grin crossed the man’s face.

“Do you know _what_ you are?”

Its first instinct was to say no again, but as it tried to speak, the answer appeared in its mind.

“I am a weapon.”

The hand released its face and the man stepped back, nodding to someone the weapon couldn’t see. Two figures in white armor approached it and the pressure around its wrists and ankles lifted. The white-armored figures grabbed its arms, dragging it off of the table and through a door. It struggled to stay on its feet as it was led down a corridor, but its head was still spinning, its limbs feeling too heavy to move.

Finally, another door was opened and it was thrown to the floor. The door closed again, the harsh _beep_ of a lock echoing through the cell.

It tried to push itself up off the floor, but it still couldn’t figure out how to move on its own. So it stayed there, lying still, trying to wrap its head around what was happening. Its mind was a blank slate, empty of all but one thing.

It was a weapon. It existed to serve the Empire.

It was a weapon.

Nothing more.


End file.
